Breaking point
The point at which a person, object, or structure collapses under stress.
There had been a time, before – before the werewolves and the other supernatural beings, before the Nogitsune – in which he had always been able to recognise his own limits and, even if he pushed himself on the edge to the point of being dizzy, he always knew when to stop. It didn't matter how badly he did not want to. In retrospect and after a few near-death experiences, he couldn't deny he had a certain suicide streak. He had often wondered, especially after Scott had been bitten, if it wouldn't be better to allow himself to fall when he still had the courage to do so, when the fear hadn't attached itself to every single one of his cell yet, like cancer eating him from the inside, crawling under his skin and making it creak like it was made of little breaking points, always about to collapse.
He didn't know when – or how – those breaking points had become so many, that he felt like he was made of nothing else, like they defined every single one of his pieces, nor he knew when he had started to physically feel something that wasn't physical at all – because breaking points weren't and they couldn't be found on people's skins, and yet he felt like his were always there, right in front of the eyes of whoever was looking at him. Sometimes, he just wanted to lock himself in his room and never get out, just so no one could see them.
Sometimes he had the feeling of coming back whole only under Derek's fingers and lips. When he touched him, every breaking point weld and, even If Stiles knew they never totally disappeared, he wasn't afraid of them anymore. He didn't know how it was possible and he didn't really care. Everything that could ease that feeling of always being about to break was welcomed, and if it meant that Derek had to use certain parts of his body on him to do so, he certainly wouldn't be the one complaining about it.
«I can hear the noise of the wheels spinning in your head even when I'm asleep, Stiles.»
A pair of muscular harm closed on him, pushing him against the hot and solid body behind him.
«Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you», he whispered, turning to brush the other's lips with his own.
«You can't sleep?», asked Derek, strengthening the hold and pressing his forehead against Stiles'.
«Something like that», he answered, curling up against him. The werewolf stiffened and Stiles didn't need a super sense of smell to sense his concern.
«Don't worry, it's not that kind of insomnia.»
Derek relaxed, protective as always when it came to nightmares, insomnia or bad thoughts, residues of the Nogitsune that had attached themselves to Stiles like a second skin and that, sometimes, they both just wanted to rip out with nails and teeth, even if they knew it would be useless.
Helping each other out when they found themselves fighting against their ghosts was the only thing that they could do, especially at night, when Stiles woke up screaming, counting his fingers one, two, three times and then again and again, until Derek caught his hands, holding them, anchoring him to reality, and when the werewolf woke up startled, his breathing laboured and the taste of ashes on his tongue, like the fire in the Hale's house had never stopped burning, not even after all those years. Not even when the memories where the only thing left to burn.
«Is there anything I can do?», asked Derek, flashing his blue eyes to be able to see him even in the darkness.
He smiled at him. «Just hold me. I need cuddles», he joked, trying to distract him
«I'm surprised you still have the strength to do that, after all, we have done in the last few hours.»
«I always have the strength to cuddle, big guy.»
The other snorted. «Why doesn't it surprise me at all?»
Stiles laughed, curling up again in the werewolf's hold, his head on Derek's bare chest, his fingers doodling on his warm skin.
«Just hold me, big guy.»
The other didn't need to be coaxed further. He enveloped him with an arm, his fingers brushing the nape of his neck. Stiles sighed, smiling, the slow and rhythmic sound of Derek's heartbeat rocking him like a lullaby. That sound had something reassuring in itself, and it was always able to calm him down when he was having a panic attack and Derek hold him against himself, listening while he counted his own heartbeats out loud, trying to drive away the crawling, paralysing fear that drove him closer to the breaking point every time. After each one, keeping the pieces together was always a little bit harder, but it was okay, because in those moments, while wrapped in the arms of the man he loved, he knew it would pass, eventually. Of course, the path was still long – not only for him but for Derek and Scott and all the others in the pack – but it was okay.
And, after all, Stiles didn't care that Derek couldn't drive away all of his nightmares, him staying at his side to share the burden, as Stiles tried to do for him, was more than enough.